Not About Love
by kkkkristen
Summary: The shame of knowing that everyone was here on account of his Irish son was unbearable for him. He was most mad though that he did not even have a decent seat to see his only son hang.


_DISCLAIMER: Okayyyy, so I know that the whole Molly Maguires incident happened circa the 1870's but I'm asking you to over look this little issue. The story of the Molly Maguires wasn't all that different than that of the Newsies only unfortunately the ending was far more tragic. For those of you who don't know the tale of the Molly Maguires I hope that this story may give you some insight into their struggle and the injustices that they faced. If you are wondering why I feel so strongly about this it is because my family is from the little mining towns where the events took place and my family is made up of descendants of the hanged men. On a different note, I will work as hard as I can to not make the main character out to be a "Mary-Sue" And finally, NO I DO NOT OWN NEWSIES. They belong to Walt. )_ Not About Love 

**Not About Love**

I would not cry.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails caused my palms to bleed. I bit the insides of my mouth so hard I thought the skin would tear. My body shook but I tried my best to conceal it. As long as I could feel the hard floor underneath my feet I would be all right. I felt the familiar burning sensation in my nose. That sensation that always signaled the beginning of a long, hard cry. I swallowed and my eyes burned with tears. Yet I did not let them fall. I would not let these people see me cry. These people who had only come to see my brother, along with three other innocent men be consigned to hell. I refused to let them pity me.

Besides me my mother clawed at my father in grief. I could tell my father was bothered by the spectacle she was making. He put his arms around her in the illusion of providing comfort. He was only trying to quiet her. My father had never been proud of our heritage. He took the "Help Wanted. No Irish Need Apply" signs harder than anyone else I knew. He tried his best to surround himself with non-Irish. "Superior" people they were in his eyes. Whether they were Italian or Polish it didn't matter. Still, in their eyes he would never be anything other then an Irish.

The shame of knowing that everyone was here on account of his Irish son was unbearable for him. He was most mad though that he did not even have a decent seat to see his only son hang.

Everyone else who worked in the mines told us that we should be proud. Eddie was sacrificing himself for a greater good. What good, I would think whenever someone told me that. As if being proud of Eddie would comfort me, when soon I was never to see him again. I was proud of Eddie. I always had been.

Eddie had always been a dreamer of sorts. He never dreamed in the fantasy sort of way though. He always dreamed of a better life, a perfect world. I guess that is a fantasy though. He often told me about how when he was down there in the dark, damp, hellish mines he would lose himself in his thoughts. I would always scold him after he told me things like that. The mines are a very dangerous place. Make one wrong move and you could lose your step, a limb, or even your life.

Our lives revolved around the mines, as did those of almost all of the Irish in Eastern Pennsylvania. My father, as well as all of the other men in the neighborhood worked in them. My father was always quick to remind me that I was blessed with the gift of being born a girl. When I was little hearing him say this would make me laugh. The thought of my father wishing to be a little girl like me seemed absurd. As I grew older though I came to understand. The casualty rate of miners is pretty grim. At least three men a week would be injured on the job if not killed. Even as children, little boys are expected to sort through rock looking for coal. Boys here are lucky to reach manhood with all of their fingers. The mining companies took no responsibility for these deaths. They felt no remorse for us. To them we were just Irish. If a man died on the job, workers would just drag the man's body to his family's home, knock on the door and dump the poor man there. This had happened to a childhood sweetheart of mine. Every time someone would come to our door we would panic expecting bad news. And if the actual working part didn't kill you the repercussions would. Both of my grandfathers and an uncle had died from Black Lung, asphyxiation from breathing in the coal fumes their entire lives.

The part that makes me the angriest of all though is that many of these deaths could have been prevented. If the mining companies would provide the workers with a bit more light, a bit more insulation, and maybe even insurance.

That is what Eddie had been working to achieve.

The day he came home ranting to me about some secret society called the Molly Maguires I thought he was crazy. The day I heard about the disappearance and possible murder of an important mine owner, I didn't know what to think. At first I wouldn't talk to him. I am ashamed to say that I doubted my own brother. I was even afraid of him for a time.

In the papers they had called my brother and the others "wild-eyed terrorists" and "foreign agitators". My brother and I never really discussed the murder and whether or not he had anything to do with it. We only discussed the things he was fighting for and the lengths he would go to, to achieve them. In my eyes my brother was innocent. It wasn't the view of my eyes that mattered though.

I had been able to speak with my brother once while he was in his cell. I followed a priest in and told him that I was only here to pray for the poor souls of these damned men. Once the priest had left, Eddie told me how he could hear them building the gallows that would bring him to his grave, from his cell. Sure enough, when I visited him they were only bits of lumbar. Today though they were ready.

My brother and these men were to be put to death based on the testimony of a single detective. A detective that I have heard to be very discredited in many circles. That doesn't matter though. People were looking for any reason to make these men hang.

My thoughts were interrupted by a tentative hand on my shoulder. I turn and face my mother. She's not looking at me though. I open my mouth to speak but don't. For the first time I have noticed the whole jail is silent. I follow her eyes to where the cells are located on the sides of the room. They are opening.

The silence is broken by a voice I know to be that of Alexander Campbell.

"I am innocent, and let this be my testimony," the room hears he proclaim. We all later learn that as he said this he rubbed his hand in the dirt of his cell and left a handprint on the wall. It is said that his handprint will remain there until justice is served for him and his fellow Molly Maguires.

Besides this outburst the four men exited their cells with dignity. When Eddie left his I watched as his eyes searched the crowd for those of his family. When his eyes met mine I could not take it anymore and I allowed to tears fall freely. The men did not panic or plead as they approached the gallows stairs. There was no use for them to ask for mercy. The prosecutors and judge in the case were the very people who had accused them of the crime in the first place.

The nooses were placed around their necks one by one. Eddie glanced at me one last time and did what I know was an attempt at our secret smile. When we were younger and received Communion I had always been terrified of the priests. With their robes and fancy manners of speaking I thought them more to be witches and wizards then men who served the lord. Eddie would always smile at me, our secret smile, from his line when I would have to approach the priest. That smile always let me know that he was looking out for me. Eddie was always looking out for me. Whether it be fighting off the neighborhood bullies or taking me outside to play in the fields when our father came home drunk from the pub. I could always depend on Eddie. And I am ashamed to say that I am selfish enough to let the thought of "what am I going to do now?" cross my mind as I watched him walk up those gallows steps. He attempted out secret smile.

It came out as a grimace.

The floor was pulled out from under them.

In a typical gallows the knot is tied at the back of the rope and goes against the nape of your neck. That way when the rope goes down it snaps your neck instantly. For some reason though the knot on these nooses was tied at the sides of the neck. That meant we all had to watch these innocent men be strangled to death. I shut my eyes but the sight will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Eddie was the last of the four to die. He was the youngest and the lightest. I will never forgot how his legs kicked around as he desperately tried to get his footing and how I thought his eyes would burst as he gasped for breath.

When it was finally over, some people cheered as the bodies were cut down. A priest came up and said a final prayer over the bodies. My older brother Edward Kelly was dead. He was only 17. I excused myself from my parents and the crowd. I went outside and threw up.

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I promise you in the next chapter we will learn more about the main character and what this story has to do with the newsies. Reviews and rants are appreciated. Thankkkks.**


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